'There’s a photograph in Underpass of an unmade bed. The disfigured sheets look so much more inviting than the omnipresent ideal of a perfectly made up bed, so neat, so tidy, so unlike real life. It’s not an artwork that is not meant to be touched; someone lives here, sleeps here. In another photograph, a grimy, hole-ridden wall that looks like it grew slowly out of solid cement looks like it’s trying very hard to tell us a story. A story different to, but not unlike, the bed. Of people, and their words, and their lives.

Underpass isn’t afraid to show the other side of life, the side that everyone knows but tries so hard to cover up and ignore. The photographs in the series have movement; they live, breathe and revel in their imperfections.These photographs relate to all of us.

It’s almost an impulse to call Underpass gritty, which is how I would have first described the series. But the more you look the more you realise it’s not gritty, it’s just real.'